


Wake Up Now

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6612121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been a full day, almost two days now, and Aramis still hasn’t woken up.  The surgeon says he’s only resting, that the knock to his head was a bad one, after everything he’s been through.  This is not reassuring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up Now

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr for the prompt, "Things you said when you thought I couldn't hear".

It’s been a full day, almost two days now, and Aramis still hasn’t woken up. The surgeon says he’s only resting, that the knock to his head was a bad one, after everything he’s been through. This is not reassuring. Porthos sits by his bedside, fingers tapping first against his thighs, then clenching his hands together and tapping his fingers over his knuckles. Then against his stomach. He shifts forward in his seat. Sits back again. Sits forward. Runs his hands over his face. Scrubs desperately through his hair. Agitated. Can’t sit still.

If Aramis were awake, he’d be scolding him by now. But Aramis isn’t awake. That’s the point. 

“Damn it,” he whispers. Scoots his chair forward so its legs scrape across the floor. Aramis doesn’t move, heavily bandaged and swathed, covered beneath blankets to keep the chill away. “Damn it,” he says again, “Wake up. Just wake up.”

There is, of course, no response. He clenches his eyes shut, starts drumming his fingers again. Feels unsettled, feels useless – he hates it, he hates that. 

He can’t spend the whole day here, no matter how much he wants to. He’ll be missed. But – it doesn’t sit right with him. He remembers—

Aramis, hands on his back, and shoving—

Porthos, shoved out of the way as the blunt side of a sword comes down hard at Aramis’ temple. He’d folded easily like that, bent into himself, sprawling onto the ground. 

Porthos—

—making sure no bastard ever hurts him again. 

And now, Aramis isn’t waking up. He won’t die. Damn it, he won’t die.

He grips his hands tight, knuckles white. “Damn it!” 

Aramis does not stir.

“Damn it,” Porthos says, quieter. The words press from him before he can stop them, before he can second-guess the instinctive fear the words elicit: “What the hell would I do without you?” 

The days pass. Aramis does wake up. Of course he does. He smiles gently at Porthos when he spots him across the courtyard. Comes to him. Touches Porthos’ shoulder. He must still be loopy, must still be tired and disoriented – because his expression is too soft when he looks at Porthos, squeezes his shoulder.

Aramis smiles at him.

Says, “I’m here, my friend.”


End file.
